The Dare
by purejitterbug
Summary: See what happens when you do a favor for a friend! A mask leads to a dance, which leads to a dare, which leads to...There is no Beast. There is no Muirfield. There is a Vincent. There is a Catherine. This is a fun story. You should be reading this. WHY AREN'T YOU READING THIS ALREADY! If you can't figure out why this is Rated M, FOR SHAME! FOR SHAME! VinCat A/U
1. The Propostion

**A/N: I'm back, bitches! That's right, you read correctly. It's me Shutterbug Mom. So, here I am. Trying to post this friggin story...AGAIN. Here's hoping it keeps this time. *glares at FF***

* * *

"You've got to be out of your mind!" Catherine Chandler stared at her best friend, Heather, and wondered if the crazy scheme she just heard had actually come from her friend, or if she had hallucinated.

"Please, Cat! You're the only person I could ask to do this-"

"Wait a minute. Let me see if I can wrap my brain around this." Cat said, furiously pacing the bedroom they were supposed to be sharing. "You and Evan are getting married tomorrow, but instead of having a kick ass bachelorette party with the girls, you want me to crash Evan's bachelor party, in disguise, and make sure he doesn't screw any of the strippers?"

Heather nodded. "Help me, Obi-Wan, you're my only hope."

"And what are going to tell people about why I am not there? Tess and Brooke are seriously pissed at me as it is. They wanted me to fly in last week!" Cat asked incredulously.

Heather looked please that Cat had asked. "Oh, that's easy. Because of that huge storm last night, you had to land in Newark instead of JFK."

Catherine gaped at Heather. "This is crazy! Are you seriously considering getting married tomorrow afternoon to a man you don't trust?!"

"I trust Evan," Heather said, sitting back on the bed, propping herself up with pillows. "I just know that Evan is a man."

"Meaning…?"

"You know the old joke, about a man having a brain and a penis, and only enough blood …"

Cat laughed, "To run one at a time. And when the blood goes to the penis…."

"There goes the brain!" Heather finished.

Cat walked to the windows to stare outside. Christmas lights adorned the trees the trees in front of Heather's mothers home. She loved Christmas lights.

As Cat stared at the lights, she thought of how weary she was. She'd flown in late from San Francisco, just missing the rehearsal dinner earlier this evening, but arrived in plenty of time to be in the actual wedding. Tomorrow was the big day. Two o'clock pm was the magic hour. And she was the maid of honor.

Cat had attended college with Heather, and Heather had been as shy then as Catherine had been outgoing. As room-mates, they had become fast friends, and stayed that way over the years. Now, on the evening before the happiest night of Heather's life, she was scared shitless that Evan would be tempted to cheat on her.

Catherine rubbed her temples. She was starting to get a headache, and that was NEVER a good thing. "You know, if it wasn't for that bastard Josh, you would be fine right now."

Heather sighed. "Yeah, yeah. I know, I know."

Already knowing she was going to say yes, Cat released a gigantic sigh, saying, "All right. What do I need to do?"

Heather bolted upright. "Okay, Evan knows you are going to be in the wedding tomorrow, but he's never met you, so he won't recognize you. Plus, you'll be in disguise. I also found out where the party is tonight. It is over in The Bowery, at Vincent's house. He is Evan's best man. I was hoping you could go over there and come back when you find…"

"That there is nothing going on."

"Right," Heather sucked in a deep breath and blurted everything out at once, "Iwashopingyouwouldpretendtob eoneofthestrippers."

"WHAT!?"

"Well, I mean, you ARE a dancer. And it is not like you're modest. After all, I saw the performance your troupe did with the blue body paint and naught else. So, uh, I didn't think it would be that, um, difficult for you." Heather was pulling out all the stops, including crying, and Cat couldn't stand to see her best friend cry.

"But what if the worst happens? Do you really want to know? Is your love for Evan deep enough to withstand something like this? Or, are you going to call off the wedding?"

Heather chewed her lip, and steeled herself to answer. "Yes, I really want to know. Yes, I would call off the wedding. And if Evan can debase himself by cheating on me with the entertainment, then no, my love will not be deep enough. You know I can't get burned again like Josh burned me."

"Fucking Josh Farrell! OK, let's see Evan's picture again."

"I knew I could count on you!"

Later that evening, Catherine walked down Vincent's street, hoping that no-one was staring. She wore thigh-high black boots, tight black leather skirt, black chemise, and a matching black leather trench coat. Her make-up was heavily applied, with bright red lipstick. On her head, she wore a platinum wig, styled short and bobbed. It was the total opposite of long, straigh, naturally deep brown hair. The last thing that Catherine wanted was to get recognized at the altar tomorrow.

It wasn't every day that your maid of honor was also a spy.

It wasn't that hard to find Vincent's house. First, there were cars parked everywhere. Second, was the heavy bass of music floating out into the night.

Thirdly, was the group of women huddled on the side of the house, arguing.

Catherine decided to jump in feet first. "Hey, you guys here for the party?"

The three women turned to look at the newcomer with something close to fear in their eyes.

"What's wrong?" Catherine asked, moving closer.

"One of our girls couldn't make it. She got food poisoning from a bad taco."

Catherine grimaced.

"We think the guy that hired is gonna get mad. He insisted on four girls."

"What do you have to do?" Catherine thought she should know where they draw the line at.

"Just Vicky Secret's stuff. Strip to underwear, flirt with the groom. The guy who hired us wanted to be tame, but intriguing."

"So, nothing kinky, no girl on girl?" Catherine mused aloud. "You know, I think I can help you girls out!"

"How?"

Cat explained how Heather had been burned in the past and was sent to spy on Evan. How she could help, being a dancer and all. They asked her if she was comfortable in her underwear. She briefly talked about her dance troupe, Emotion in Motion.

"Yeah, but can you dance sexy?"

Deciding to go for broke, Catherine swept her trench coat off, snapped her fingers, then began to groove to the beat coming from Vincent's house behind them.

"Wow, those are some great moves! All right, you can come with. Just stick close to me and let me know if any of the guys try anything funny."


	2. The Striptease

It had been so much easier the she expected. She slipped in right behind the other three girls. Evan was easy to spot, in the main chair in the family room. She also noticed that smack dab in the middle of comfortable chairs and sofas, a heavy, square coffee table had been cleared of everything and gleamed like a little mini-stage.

Catherine followed the girls' leads and flung her black trench coat over the side of one of the couches along with the other girls' winter garments.

_My first bachelor party. This should be interesting. At the very least, it won't be boring!_

Cat had thought that they would start dancing right away, but instead they were offered drinks and given introductions, but everyone offered first names only. One of the girls, the leader presumably, introduced Catherine as Candy, so she went with it. And she asked for a soda as opposed to anything alcoholic.

The girls were also offered beautiful, glittery domino masks with feathery plumes, and Cat realized this bachelor party had a theme: Mardi gras.

Gold coins and colorful plastic beads were scattered around the rooms between bowls of chips and dips and Evans of sandwiches. The large sheet cake decorated with an edible cookie tombstone and the words, "R.I.P. Evan" and, "Another Man Bites the Dust" written in icing sparkled with colored sugar in golds, greens, and purples.

Cat took her mask and put it on. And in the strangest way, it made her feel almost invisible: as if she could watch everything without being seen.

There were about 30 or so men there, all in their early to mid-thirties. Catherine could almost feel the testosterone like a tangible cloud in the room.

"I don't see the guy that hired us," one of the girls whispered. "Oh, well, his loss. Why don't we get started?"

As if on cue, the stereo system began to thump out the opening bars to The Rolling Stones' classic, "Brown Sugar." Guitar licks filled the room. If ever there was a song for dirty dancing, this was it.

"Great," Catherine said, and she and another made their way through the sea of male bodies and admiring eyes toward that large, gleaming coffee table. Cat had been keeping an eye on Evan, and she had a feeling he had already drank QUITE a bit. He wouldn't be doing anything amorous tonight.

One of the men offered a hand up, and she took it, smiling sweetly. Closing her eyes, Catherine began to sway to the music, a smile on her lips.

_Smart move, putting me up her with another girl. We don't even HAVE to do anything together. It will all be implied._

The music revved up, someone turned the tunes up, and Cat opened her eyes to see that her "partner" had already removed her skirt, much to the cheers of the men.

_Whoops! Time to catch up…_

She worked the zipper down on her leather skirt, laughing as it snagged on her black satin panties.

_Hey! This is actually kinda fun._

The skirt came off, and when Cat threw it, it landed on some guys head, like a necklace. As the songs passed, the clothing began to come off more and more. As the other girls got on the table, Cat started to notice that they were flashing the guys. Unfortunately, she was more amply endowed than the rest. Even more unfortunately, her bra unfastened in the back, whereas the other girls were wearing 'front unloaders'. And every male eye was now on Cat.

_What to do?_

She continued to dance around the table as the other girls got down. She was alone on the table. And she would swear she could hear every guy wonder what was beneath the black satin push-up bra.

_Ah, what the heck…_

Smiling a private, dreamy smile designed to drive a man crazy, Catherine began to sway to Chris Isaak's "Baby Did a Bad, Bad Thing".

And she reached for the hooks at the back of her bra.

* * *

Vincent Keller sat at his massive oak desk, on the phone, trying not to listen to the sounds of the party drifting beneath the door.

One of the trade-offs of being highly successful was that sometimes your day went a lot longer than five o'clock.

And he was successful beyond his wildest dreams. He and his business partner, J.T. Forbes, had designed a compact mass storage device for computers, and it took off like a shot. They had made millions with it when it went public, and they had fun doing it.

Vincent frowned. At least J.T. had managed the fun part. He routinely nagged him to loosen up and live a little, but he was a serious man by nature. That was why he and J.T. complemented each other in business.

Vincent listened carefully, and as the conversation wound down, J.T. said, "Wasn't there a party you were supposed to go to tonight?"

"Yeah." He rubbed his fingers along his temples, a headache beginning. Not a good sign. Vincent suddenly realized that he had worked straight through lunch and needed to get something to eat.

"Well, get going. And don't do anything I wouldn't do."

"Which means open season?" Vincent grinned.

"You said it, not me," said J.T., sounding amused. "All I know, Vincent, is that all work and no play makes for a life that sucks."

"You have got a point there," Vincent said, glancing at his watch. "How's Riley doing?" he asked, referring to his five year black lab. He had asked J.T. to watch him, as Riley didn't like people crowds.

"Currently, he's licking himself. Obviously, he's thinking of you right now."

"Nice, J.T. Real attractive. Thanks for keeping him."

"He is fine. Don't worry about him."

"I will call in the next few days." Vincent hung up the phone, and then stood, stretching his long frame. He cocked his head, listening to roars and masculine shouts coming from the family room down the hall.

_What the hell is going on?_

He started towards the door of the den, opened it, and headed toward the family room.

* * *

She teased, tormented, and tortured them. And where she got the desire to do so, Catherine had no idea. It was as if a hidden talent she didn't know she had just burst out of her. Of course, the disguise helped. A lot. She felt like another woman. A sexy, powerful, experienced woman. A woman who could lead men all sorts of erotic roads.

She'd reached for the back fastening of her bra, then hesitated, her hands coming to her front, then drifting back, and the third time, still teasing, she'd finally unfastened her bra in back. Catherine always believed that a proper striptease was a work of art. She'd never had a chance to do one, and probably never would again, and she intended to make the most out of this wonderful opportunity.

They were mesmerized, every man in the room riveted on her hands, waiting for her to slip the bra down lower, lower and finally come off….

But she didn't. She made them wait

Cat slid the back fastenings apart let the lacy bra straps slide down her shoulders, then moved her hands so she was cupping the bra in front of her breasts.

The men were losing their minds, begging her to take it off.

She had the idea to look over at Evan, wondering how he was doing.

Evan was sound asleep.

Cat smiled, almost laughed, and continued to dance, her hips swaying in time to the music, her hands on black satin. Then she flashed the bra up, revealing her naked breasts, and swiftly covered them again. The men reacted like they had never seen breasts before.

Catherine laughed. She lifted the bra again, allowing only a slightly longer glance. Totally teasing.

The men were going, in a word, ape shit.

She slipped the bra into the crowd, straight toward a tall, dark-haired man who was coming toward her with an expression on his handsome face that was not at all amused.


	3. The Plan

Vincent had walked into the family room just in time to see the blond haired dancer flash her breasts to his half-crazed friends. And his first thought was: _When the hell did I ever see this in the Victoria's Secret catalog?_

Vincent fumed. Evan was terrified enough of getting married tomorrow. He didn't need anything like this to get him into trouble, or help him do something stupid. Heather would be heartbroken if she even thought he would even consider cheating on her.

As the crowd parted to let his determined body through, the dancer turned, stopped, faced him, and threw her bra into the crowd.

Vincent reached up, caught it, headed straight over to the coffee table, took the half naked woman into his arms, heaved her over his shoulders, and stalked out of the family room and towards his den.

"Hey!" Catherine exclaimed, wriggling in his grasp. "Put me down, you...you...beast!"

He put her down, and she immediately turned and ran down the hall, back toward the party. He set off in hot pursuit.

When he found her, she was drinking a glass of punch, chatting with the bartender, and fastening the last clasp of her bra.

_When did she get the bra back from me?_

Vincent's eyes narrowed as he studied her. As annoyed as he was at her actions, he had to admit she had pretty magnificent breasts.

"Just what do you think you were doing up there?" he asked, he tone low and even, trying to control his temper.

"Dancing. And doing a damn fine job of it, if I do say so myself."

Vincent immediately began scanning the room. "Where is Evan?" he thought out loud.

"Sacked out in the recliner," the dancer said, and he glanced at her. He liked her voice, even though he didn't want to. Low, soft, sexy, and utterly feminine. Though he hated to admit it, it suited her.

_Wait a minute…_

"How do you know Evan?" he asked her.

* * *

Catherine hesitated. If she didn't think fast, her cover was blown. The wedding would be all over, and it would be her fault!

"He was introduced when we first arrived. After all, he IS the bachelor," Cat said, grateful that she came up with something on the spot.

"He is scared shitless about tomorrow, and the last thing he needs is to be tempted!"

She would have just said 'Sorry' and been done with it, but the little devil on her shoulder pushed her to shrug and say, "I don't know what happened. They just sort of, popped out, you know, a will of their own."

Vincent reached for her arm. She slapped his hand.

"Ah, ah, looky, no touchy."

He stepped back. "I hired all of you on the grounds that this party remain…"

"Tame?" Catherine supplied the word for him, the shoulder devil driving her on.

Vincent hesitated.

"Boring?" she added, taking a sip of punch.

"You," he said between clenched teeth, "have quite an attitude."

"Do you boss everyone around like this, or am I just special?" There was just something about this guy that made her want to goad him.

"At the moment," he said, his voice becoming low and deadly, "it seems to be just you."

"Well, aren't I the lucky one?" he muttered over her drink as she took a gulp.

"Slow down with the liquor," he said , taking the cup out of her hand.

"There's no alcohol in that," she laughed.

"Actually, there is," said the bartender, sheepishly, "Vodka."

"Amazing, you can't even tell; it tastes just like Hawaiian Punch." She squinted her eyes at the bartender. "Which one of you three added the booze?"

Vincent sighed, took her arm, and then swung her up over his shoulder, again.

Back in the den, he set her down on the leather sofa.

"Maybe you should sleep it off while the other girls dance."

Catherine pressed her hand to her forehead. "I am kind of dizzy."

"Were you drunk while you were dancing?"

She glared at him. "Not that it is any of your business, but no, I wasn't.""

"Actually, it is. I arranged this little shindig."

_Whoops._ She didn't want to get the other girls in trouble.

"I'm sorry," she said, trying to sound contrite.

"Somehow, I doubt that."

"Oh, come on, how am I supposed to apologize if all you do is make everything sound like a lie?"

"You are doing a fine job of that yourself."

Cat glared at him, then took off her mask and set it down next to her. She lay down and closed her eyes. "I'm just going to pretend that you are not here," she whispered.

"The feeling is mutual."

She hadn't been on the couch three minutes when the phone rang. She caught the name J.T.. Cat gathered by his brusque tone that J.T. was a business associate, and not a loved one.

So when he strode out of the room without hanging it up, Cat acted impulsively and picked up the phone.

"J.T.?" she asked

"Yes, this is J.T.. Who's this?" came a very interested voice.

She decided to get straight to the point. "Is he always this bad?"

"Vincent? Bad? No, he is usually much worse."

Catherine had to laugh.

"So, he's refusing to have fun again, isn't he?" J.T. asked.

_You could say that._

Cat decided to throw caution to the wind and explained what happened.

"Let me understand. You danced topless, and Vincent objected?"

"Yup."

"He has been working too hard. How old are you?"

"Sixteen."

"Funny. Really, though?"

"Twenty six."

J.T. sighed. "He's losing his mind."

"How can I get him to loosen up and have fun?" she asked, amazed at how the alcohol had removed the filter between brain and mouth.

J.T. was silent for a moment, and then said, "I have a plan. And, it's a great idea."

"What?"

"Vincent can't refuse a dare. It's gotta be genetic, cause his dad's the same. Just dare him to do something, and he'll be putty."

"Hmmm," Cat hiccuped gently. "That's sounds fun."

"Just be sure that you REALLY want him to do something, because once you get him started, he's not gonna back down."

"Got it."

"What's your name?"

She hiccuped again. "Cat. Oops, I mean, Candy."

J.T. laughed. "Oh, this just gets better and better. Well, I'm going to wish you luck, Cat Candy, and we had better get off the phone before Vincent realizes that I have been giving away state secrets."

"Okay, thanks J.T.."

"I'd say my pleasure, but I think it might be Vincent's."

Catherine laughed, set down the phone, and ran unsteadily back to the couch, where she lay down and closed her eyes. The plan was to pretend to sleep, gather her thoughts, and figure out what to do next.

She was asleep before Vincent came back into the room.


	4. The Dare

Vincent sent the other three girls home with hefty tips and his total appreciation.

Most of his guests had either retired to bedrooms in his house, or like Evan, were passed out on the family room floor.

So Vincent went back to the den and watched Candy sleep. And he got her a blanket, so she wouldn't get cold. Then he studied her face while she slept.

_She really is a stunner._

Vincent wasn't the type to go to strip clubs, but there was a moment there, when she threw her bra at him…

Well, he would have to be 10 years dead not to appreciate that incredibly feminine body. Or those curves, that sense of aliveness, that total feeling of being in the moment.

For the briefest moment, he'd felt so alive. Really alive! And that moment had made him realize how seldom he had felt that way over the last few years. All he had really been focused on was building his business.

Vincent considered all this as he watched her sleep and thought about the wedding that would take place tomorrow. There was a part of him that had resented having to be responsible for Evan. Even though Evan was a close friend, he had wondered why Evan was so afraid of marrying Heather. It wasn't like she was a witch or anything. She was a sweetheart. Vincent has always assumed that when you knew it was right, when you finally with the right woman, things just sort of plowed from there and fell into place.

Candy groaned, and then stretched, causing the blanket to fall to the floor. Her heavily mascaraed lashes fluttered open and she glanced over at him.

"What time is it?" she whispered.

"Right around two in the morning," he whispered back.

She tried to sit up, then lay back down on the couch. "Woah."

"You need to eat something," he said holding out cake and praying she wasn't the kind of girl that was picky with her food.

"Fantastic! I'm starving," she said grabbing the cake right off the plate. She finished in record time, and Vincent stared, fascinated, as she licked her fingers clean.

Vincent swallowed audibly. She was just so ALIVE. How could he be so attracted to a woman he had been so annoyed with earlier?

"Do you have a ride home?" he asked, watching the way she wouldn't quite meet his gaze.

"Sure."

"You're such a liar," he whispered.

"Oh, yeah? What makes you an expert?"

He didn't say anything, wondering why he had the urge to be so rude with her, to get her going. And he found he liked arguing with her.

"How about a little game?" she said.

He liked the way her eyes were sparkling. This woman radiated fun. "What kind of game?" The images in his head were totally X rated.

"Truth or dare. I get to go first."

"Fine. I'll pick truth."

"Were you pissed off, having to babysit Evan?"

Vincent hesitated. The quiet honor between friends battled with the truth.

"Truth," she said softly.

"Yeah, it pissed me off."

"Good."

"Are you some sort of exotic dancer? Truth."

"Yes, I am a dancer." She smiled up at him and he watched as she moistened those bright red lips with her tongue. Oh, yeah, definitely X-rated thoughts.

"Are you attracted to me?" she said, her voice barely a whisper.

He barely waited for her to finish. "Yes."

"Do you want to kiss me?" she asked.

He paused.

"Truth," she said.

"Yeah."

The silence stretched between them until she said, "Well, we've done the truth, now how about the dare?"

"What do you mean?" His heart was pounding heavily, slowly speeding up. This woman was absolutely incredible. A fantasy come true.

No, make that _HIS_ fantasy come true.

"I dare you," she said, her eyes never leaving the deep chocolate of his.

His eyebrow rose. "Dare me what?" he asked.

"I dare you," she said, "to kiss me."

It was a dare he didn't even try to resist.

"You got it," he said softly and was pleased at her reaction. Those incredible hazel eyes widen slightly, and his entire body hummed with sexual anticipation as he watched her tongue dart out and nervously lick those glossy red lips.

"Truth," he said. "Are you scared?"

"Of you? Of course not!" she replied.

"Good," he said, and he got up from the leather chair he had been sitting in and approached the couch she was lying on. As he came around the large coffee table, he caught sight of her expression and realized she was just as excited as he was.

He knew it was going to be good with her, as he lowered his body down on to the couch. He sat down by her side, then leaned over.

He decided to go for broke and kicked off his shoes and slid over her, so his body was pressed was pressed along every inch of hers. Their faces were close, but he still hadn't kissed her.

She smiled up at him. That mouth! Then she whispered, "Is that a gun in your pocket, or are you really just that happy to see me?"

He almost laughed. "I'm . . . just . . ." He moved his mouth closer to hers, quarter inch by quarter inch. "Really . . . happy . . . to . . ." His mouth hovered right above hers, so close he could feel her breath on his face. "See . . . you." He sighed, then lowered his lips to hers and took her mouth.

It tasted just as sweet as it looked, and the gloss had some kind cinnamon flavoring to it. Hot and spicy. Sticky and sweet. He kissed her, and the added sensation of her body pressed against his fired him up so that he couldn't think straight.

She kissed him back with such feeling, moving her body in a slow sensuous way against his. He remembered she was a dancer and dancers knew how to move.

He broke the first kiss and didn't even give her a chance to breath before going directly to the next. His hands started to roam, and he found that he had to touch her breasts. Those breasts had been tormenting him since he had first seen them, since he had flashed him while she was dancing. He'd thought of those breasts, how it would feel to touch them, to taste them.

As he continued to kiss her, his hand slid to the fastening in the back of her bra, and within seconds it was open. Then he slid his fingers around to her front and slid them up and under the black satin bra. She whimpered beneath his mouth, made a small, strangled sound as he cupped her breast, then teased the erect nipple with his thumb and forefinger. He broke their kiss and slithered down her body, taking that taut nipple into his mouth and pulling on it strongly.

* * *

When he took her nipple in his mouth, Catherine almost shot up off the couch.

She was in _BIG_ trouble. This man could get more mileage out of a kiss than most men could out of an entire night. Those first two long, slow kisses had almost rendered her totally immobile. Soft. Pliable. Willing. Wanting.

Now she groaned deep in her throat and found herself moving against his mouth, wanting more, not quite sure what she was asking for, though she had a general idea of what comes next.

She tensed, a little anxious.

Vincent stopped kissing and caressing her breasts and whispered, "What is it?"

Cat realized her body went completely still. Searching for a reason he would find acceptable, she whispered, "The door. Anybody could walk right in."

"Oh. Sorry." He seemed slightly ashamed that he hadn't thought to lock it or at least close it. She watched Vincent as he got up off of the couch so gracefully, and she liked the way he moved as he walked to the den door, shut it, locked it, and then turned back to her.

"How about a fire?"

Catherine blinked, and then said, "I think we already got one going."

He laughed, and then went to the large fireplace where he quickly and efficiently built a fire.

"Wine?" he suggested.

Maybe a glass of wine would make this whole thing easier. It was her first time doing this sort of thing, and she had waited what seemed like forever for it to seem right. For a moment she wanted to tell him tonight would be a first for her, that she had never been with a man before, but she knew that might blow her cover. Who would believe that an exotic dancer was a virgin?

"Why not?" she said, lying back on the couch and shrugging off her bra.

Catherine was going for broke.

* * *

_God, she is glorious._

Vincent had spent his entire adult life surrounded by women who played games until the moment arrived, then acted coy and indignant. So Candy was a totally refreshing change for him. He got a big kick out of the way she just shrugged off the bra like she didn't have a care in the world. She just lounged on the couch in just a pair of black panties and those thigh high boots.

_If this is a dream, please don't wake me up!_

Vincent walked over to the mini-bar he set up, and lost in a Candy-coated haze, popped a bottle of wine, and filled two wine glasses to the very top.

He stared at them, and frowned.

_Too obvious._

He wasn't trying to get her drunk. He just didn't want to stop for refills.

God! He felt seventeen again, before his very first time. Candy stirred him up and make him feel alive, no doubt about it.

_To hell with obvious. I want her._

Grabbing the glasses, he spun around to find she had moved from the couch to lie on the bearskin rug J.T. had got him last Yule. Something about a beast for a beast. He didn't understand it then, but he was certainly grateful for the gift now, as he watched it get put to good use.

The firelight out lined her profile, that classic face, that slender body, those terrific breasts just bathed in fire. He stopped to study her and felt his body tighten with intense desire, urging him on.

* * *

She looked up as Vincent approached. The leather had turned cold so she had moved toward the warmth of the fire.

"Cold?" he asked, handing her a huge glass of white wine and sitting down next to her.

"A little. This is better," she said, indicating the fire. "And now, you're here."

She saw a quick light of pleasure flare in those dark eyes. Keeping her eyes locked on his, she raised her glass into the air. He might not know why, but Catherine wanted to toast tonight. She knew what she was giving up, and she was doing this of her own free will. Somehow tonight just seemed like the night.

Right time, right moment…..and the right man.

"To tonight," she whispered to Vincent. "To a night that will exceed both of our wildest expectations."

"Oh, I'm sure it will."

She closed her eyes and took a long swallow of wine, then set it aside. "Well, let's get down to it," she said brightly.

He seemed to choke on his wine a little: it almost came out his nose. He coughed, and then set his glass of wine down. "Just like that?"

"Don't you want to?"

"Of course I do. I just didn't want you to think…."

"That you wanted me for a night of intense, no holds barred, no strings attached, hot monkey sex?" she supplied sweetly.

She had rendered him completely speechless.

"Isn't that what you wanted?" she mused, picking up her glass and taking a sip. It really was quite good.

"Doesn't that upset you?" he asked incredulously.

"Vincent," she said, wondering if every girl had to work as hard to lose their virginity. "Do other women put all these demands on you?"

"Well . . . yeah."

"Well," she said, setting her glass down and arching her back slightly, "not me. After all, Danger . . . is my middle name." She had heard that line in the Lion King and always wanted to use it.

Twenty six was just too damn old to still be a virgin. It was time to start living.

He hesitated, and Catherine decided to go all out. She lifted her hips slightly.

"Could you help me take these off?" she said, indicating her panties. "I find that they just get in the way."

That did it. He grabbed for his sweater and pulled in over his head. His shirt came next, buttons flying. Next, the pants, and she was sure Vincent set a new land speed record for the removal of pants. He threw his clothing to the side with a reckless abandon that fired up her blood.

Only one small detail; as she looked at his aroused body, his magnificent, totally male, incredibly aroused body, she caught sight of IT.

He must have seen the vaguely terrified expression on her face.

"What's wrong?"

She swallowed, and then decided she could answer him honestly. "It's just . . . I've never seen one . . . quite so . . . wow." That was the truth at least.

"Wow?"

"Uh-huh."

He smiled then, and Cat got her first taste of true male ego.

"You aren't scared, are you?" he said.

_Of that? You bet._

"Me, oh, no, it's just…. a little overwhelming at first glance. I'm fine." She said, stretching her arms above her head and arching her back. She started to laugh. "You can do anything you want to me, but I dare you to do it right now!"

Vincent laughed, and then she watched him as he picked up his wine. He took a sip and held it in his mouth.

"What are you up to?" she whispered when he gave her a devilish wink.

And then she found out.

He slid down her body, her legs wide open, and settled between her thighs. With one hand, he pulled her panties to the side and found her with his lips and tongue.

"Oh . . . my . . . GOD!" she cried out, and climaxed within minutes.

He was enough of a gentleman to let her recover.

"I want to get a good look at you," she whispered.

"Oh, be my guest," he breathed, as she scooted towards him.

He was impressive. Extremely impressive. She circled the base of his erection with her hand, amazed that her fingers didn't touch.

Wow, indeed.

She didn't want to give away her inexperience, so she said, "I know all men are different, so could you show me what you like?"

For a minute she thought she had done something wrong, because he started to laugh.

"What?" she asked.

"I think I've died and gone to heaven." He put his hand over hers and showed her what he liked.

"Thanks, I think I've got it from here."

"I'm sure you do," he said, his voice tight.

Slowly, so carefully, she lowered her mouth to the tip of his massive erection and eased him in. And almost laughed when she heard his strangled moan. When he stopped her, she was confused.

"You didn't like it?"

"Oh, no. You might say I liked it way too much. If you had kept going, well . . ."

"Oh." Her face flamed as she suddenly understood what he was saying.

"Come here," he said, drawing her into his arms as he sat up. He kissed her long and hard, cupping her face in his hands. "You're the best thing that's happened to me in . . . forever."

"You, too," she said and meant it.

"Let's take these off, shall we?" he said, hooking his fingers into the sides of her panties.

"Let's," she said, rising up on her knees, he slipped her panties down to her thighs. She sat back down, her bare bottoms against the fur, and he slid her panties down past her ankles, and then helped her take off her boots. . . . And she was totally naked.

"What's that?" he asked, his eye caught on something.

"What?"

"On your butt."

"Oh. It's a rose." She had gotten the tattoo on her twenty first birthday, on a dare. A small red rose with a green stem and two leaves. It was so much a part of her, there were times she forgot she even had it.

"Turn over," he said, and she obediently lay on her stomach while he studied it.

"It's very pretty."

"I like it."

"You're very pretty."

Catherine smiled. "I like you."


	5. The Cherry

Vincent took her hand, pulled her toward him, and kissed her. And kissed her, harder. More insistently. He slid up her body and braced himself over her. She looked up at him and knew that his was it.

He slid into her with an unchecked masculine force that rocked her back hard against the floor. At the quick, sharp pain, tears gathered in her eyes, but she closed them because she didn't want him to know.

But that pain, that peculiar burning, stretching sensation, was so quickly replaced by intense pleasure that she found herself grabbing her shoulders, rearing up off of the rug, then grasped his butt so he had to move against her just so.

And then it happened again, another climax, and she thought he would finish, but he kept moving right through it, thrusting into her again and again. And the intensely sexual rhythm increasing, the strength of it, the speed, had Catherine orgasming all over again.

_HOLY SHIT!_

He was pounding into her, his body moving as if it was out of his conscious control. Then she felt him stop, tense, and felt those muscular contractions. He groaned, buried his face against her shoulder, then gasped for air as if he had been running for miles.

She could feel his heartbeat racing against her chest. When it finally slowed, he raised his head and found her lips with his. He kissed her, then slowly slid to the side, keeping their bodies joined.

She couldn't keep her eyes open. Her eyelids drifted shut, and the only thought on her mind was that it had certainly been worth the wait.

Catherine didn't know how much time had passed when she woke, but she knew the blanket had slipped off her shoulders, and she was cold. The fire had burned down to embers, and the den was almost totally dark.

She pulled at the blanket, managed to get a little more out from under Vincent's prone body, then started when she heard his voice.

"You awake?"

She hesitated. "Yeah."

He rolled over and moved his body so they could cover themselves with the blanket while lying on the rug.

"You okay?" he asked, and she heard the hesitation in his voice.

"I'm great. How about you?"

In answer, an arm came around her waist and pulled her tightly against him.

"What do you think?" he whispered, and she realized he was aroused again, hard and ready.

Catherine searched for his face in the dark, kissed him. He responded, and she found it took a lot less foreplay to get both of them ready, because they had been so primed for it before. And even though she was sore, when he reached between her legs, she knew she would let him inside her again.

But she was surprised when Vincent rolled onto his back, the blanket still over him, and positioned her over his hard arousal. She slid down onto him, and this time it was easier; there was no pain as he entered her, then filled her so completely. Only pleasure, waves of it, immense pleasure as he began to move beneath her and she matched his rhythm.

She moved against him with absolutely no inhibitions. Being a dancer, she was at home with her body, but this man matched her move for move; he was a fantastic sexual partner. He moved his hands to her waist, his fingers biting into the sides of her body; then they moved lower, so both thumbs grazed that most sensitive spot.

"Come for me," he whispered, and his words fired her up even more.

"Come for me, I want to watch you come."

Vincent pressed harder, seeming to know what she wanted and needed before she did. And when she did come, she threw back her head and cried out, "YES!"

He rolled her over on her back after that, and pumped into her, seeking his own release. She wrapped her legs around his waist and hung on. Just when she thought he couldn't go in any deeper, he moved back and hooked her legs over his shoulder, then started moving again, and she knew she was taking him deeper, and it felt incredible.

Then Vincent found his release, and she went with him, right at the same time. And she didn't even feel him crushing down on her after it was all over, because she had her arms tightly around his neck and had decided that she couldn't possibly leave something this good.

She would tell Vincent the truth in the morning.

He moved off her, and she snuggled up against his big, warm body. The seemed to radiate heat. And as his muscular arm came around her waist and beneath her breasts, as he tucked himself in behind her like they were two little spoons in a drawer, Catherine fell asleep with an incredibly satisfied smile on her face.

She would tell him. She would be a fool not to, after a night like this.


	6. The Morning After

When Catherine woke the following morning, it took her a few seconds to figure out where she was.

Her eyelids didn't seem to want to work properly, probably due to the fact that her lashes were stuck together with heavy mascara. She rubbed them with her fingers, then blinked them open, her vision blurring as a speck of mascara flaked into one eye. It watered, she blinked, and the first thing she focused on, in the early morning winter sunlight streaming into the den, was the glittery purple domino mask on the coffee table by the leather couch.

_A mask. . ._

Catherine blinked, stared at Vincent while he slept, and remembered all of it. In excruciating detail.

_Yikes!_

She blinked again.

_The wedding. Today. Oh, my God._

She had to get away. She had to get out of this house before Vincent woke up and started asking questions. Like the million dollar one: What had she been thinking?

She wasn't the sort of girl who threw caution to the wind. And Cat had the feeling that Vincent was not the kind of man whose normal companions were as totally inexperienced as she was.

Make that had been: past tense. As in, before last night. Before Vincent had come into her life.

She glanced around, found her panties and reached for them. As she slipped them on and found her bra, Cat knew she couldn't blame Vincent for what had happened between them. He had been a gentleman, she had been the one who had dared him, then later that night double dared him, and then . . . .

She bit her lip against the groan that threatened to escape, fastened her bra, and reached for her boots.

_Oh, and one other little detail. Where are my clothes?_

_Out in the family room, with the rest of the guys._

She could only hope they were all passed out.

She had her second boot zipped up and was about to stand, when Vincent stretched, mumbled something, then turned toward her and gently grasped her upper arm with his hand.

"Candy . . ." he muttered.

_He doesn't even know my real name._

For some reason, this bothered her. Cat knew that after the wedding she would never see him again, and she would never let on what had happened. But for some reason, it bothered her that she would never hear that sexy, smoky voice say her real name. For just a moment, she felt incredible guilt over her deception.

"Hey, Vincent," she whispered. She leaned down and kissed his cheek, and then those lips, those lips that had done such wonderfully naughty things to her the night before.

"Candy," he whispered again. "Dance for me. . . ."

And then he drifted off to sleep.

Well. This chapter of her life was over. The wedding, the reception, then a quick hop, skip, and jump to the airport, and she would never see Vincent again.

Catherine hesitated, finding that leaving this man was harder than she'd thought. The truth, she was discovering, was that she sucked at one night stands. She didn't want to leave. They'd been so close, and now she had to leave him.

_He thinks you are a stripper. You were the classic one night stand, for Christ's sake! It's not like Vincent is offering you the little house with the white picket fence, two car garage, a golden retriever and two point five children. Though, I've never understood how you could have half a kid. . . ._

She bit her lip as she stared at him, committing that body, that hair, that face, to memory.

_Those hands. . . ._

She couldn't believe how shaken up she was.

_That voice. . . ._

That voice in the dark had been magic.

She couldn't seem to move.

_Get going!_ The voice of sanity in her head screamed.

_But we had something special here,_ the first voice insisted. _And a guy who made love to you the way this one did last night has had plenty of practice. Think about that._

_Yeah, there's that. And, the fact that I have never done anything this crazy before._

_Right! So get out!_

_But. . . ._

For some crazy reason, she was about to shake Vincent awake, when she remembered Heather.

_Best friend, wedding day. Ring any bells? You were spying on her husband-to-be. And if the truth comes out, there will be no wedding._

Heather would be the big loser here. And she knew she could never do that to Heather, not when the rest of her life was at stake.

Thoughts of Heather galvanized Catherine into action. She got to her feet, took one last, long look at Vincent, went through the door, and ran to find her clothes.

It was a cinch to find them, though she had to pry her skirt away from a guy that was using it as a pillow.

She let herself out the front door and looked up to see it snowing again. Light, lacy flakes floated down out of the leaden sky. She jogged two blocks over and down, called a cab, and hightailed it back to the house.

When she was inside and saw that it was only six in the morning, she hurried to the bathroom and locked the door. Only then did Cat let herself believe that she was actually going to get away with what she had done.

Dressed as a stripper.

Crashed a bachelor Party.

Spied on Evan.

Slept with Vincent…_oops! Not part of the plan._ And, she resolved as she took off the wig, that was the part no-one else would ever know.

Catherine took a deep breath and stared at her face in the mirror.

She looked like a wild woman . . . but a satisfied wild woman.

_No. You have to stop thinking about him. You mean nothing to him; just a stripper on the road of life, two ships that met in the night. Ugh! Stop mixing metaphors!_

She was going to was that man out of her hair, off her body, get his scent off of her, forget the feel of his hands, those lips, that voice, his . . .

_Forget it ever happened._

She stepped beneath the hot spray of the shower and reached for the soap. As soon as she finished, she'd give Heather the rundown, more or less.

* * *

Vincent groaned and rolled over, wrapping his legs in the blanket. He grunted, then smiled as he took a deep breath in and remembered. . . .

_Candy. . . ._

He opened his eyes.

Candy was gone.

Vincent frowned, then slowly sat up and ran his fingers through his dark hair.

_Odd…._

He hadn't even paid her. Not for the sex, but for the dancing. She was hired to do a job, and she did a damn fine one, whipping his guests into a frenzy before he dragged her into the den. And he could honestly say that, when he brought her back here, he'd had no intentions of having sex with her.

Hell, he didn't know sex like that existed.

He glanced over at the table and caught sight of the mask. And remembered that face, that short blond hair, those glossy red lips forming the words that had done him in.

_I dare you to kiss me. . . ._

He'd had a lot of sexual experiences in his twenty-nine years, but last night had been the single best night of his life.

Vincent frowned.

_Then why had she left?_

A sudden thought chilled him.

_Maybe she's married._

He couldn't believe that. Didn't want to.

_Why had she left?_

He sat there, lost in his once again Candy-coated thoughts, when he heard a loud snore that broke him out of his reverie.

_Wedding, right._

Vincent glanced at the clock. 8:45am.

Evan. The wedding.

He stood up and put his pants on. Walking into the family room, he saw Evan asleep on the floor, face smooshed into the rug.

Time to get moving, and get this show on the road.

"Evan," he said, shaking his buddy's shoulder. "Evan!"

"Evan! DAMN IT EVAN, GET UP! YOU'RE GETTING MARRIED TODAY!"

Evan opened a bleary eye and croaked, "Coffee?"

"I'll make you coffee while you get in the shower. Get moving. We have to be at the church by noon, and you need to look a hell of a lot better than you do right now."

Evan slowly rose to his feet and went into the bathroom. As soon as Vincent heard Evan turn the water on, he grabbed the phone book.

Dancing Body Parts, Inc.

_Ah, there it is._

As he dialed the number, he recalled why he picked that company, and he smiled. The name just reminded him of the video "Thriller". He just imagined random arms and legs dancing in sync. He chuckled. Man, was he glad he picked that one.

"Dancing Body Parts, how can we service you?"

"This is Vincent Keller, I hired four girls for a bachelor party last night…."

"One moment please."

Vincent started grinning ear-to ear when he hear that the hold musak was "Baby Did a Bad, Bad Thing"

"This is Zeke, how can I help you?" asked the voice at the other end.

"This is Vincent Keller."

"Yes, the bachelor party. Let me guess, you want to hire one of the girls for a private party."

Vincent blanched, "How did you know?"

"Happens all the time. Lemme guess, you wanna party with Nikki?"

"No, I wish to hire Candy."

"Candy?" Quinn asked, his voice conveying mild disgust. "Well, it takes all kinds. $500 for a night."

"Fine." Vincent said through clenched teeth.

"What time you want her there?"

"Eleven?" Vincent thought that would leave enough for the wedding and to clean up this place a little. Maybe put a bottle to wine to chill.

"She'll see you at eleven. Thank you for your business, Mr. Keller."

"Thanks." Vincent hung up the phone, feeling strangely ashamed of himself. For just a moment, he wished that he and Candy could have met in a more normal way.

_No. Not possible. Because how could you have met her at a party? You never go to parties. You threw this for Evan, not for you. And if she'd walked down the street and you'd seen her, your mind would have been on other things. Business._

He smiled, remembering. Remembering the moment when he'd walked into the room in time to have her bra flung at him, and he'd gotten a look at those breasts.

She'd caught his eye, all right, in a way no other woman ever had. And then she had argued with him, challenged him, and he'd found that he had like it. Women usually became sweetly submissive around him. Candy has been so different. Challenge could have been her middle name. Something about her just _PULLED_ to him.

He couldn't stop thinking about last night, thinking about the way she'd dared him to kiss her.

_Some dare!_

The moment his had come down over hers, he had been lost.

Vincent poured himself a cup of coffee, black, and leaned against the kitchen counter. He took a sip, his mind working, plotting every step.

He took another sip of coffee. He'd see Candy tonight, and it couldn't be too soon.

* * *

"Cat?"

Catherine turned at the sound of her friend's voice and stopped drying her hair with a towel. She had already dressed in sweat clothes. Halfway through her shower, she realized she wouldn't be getting any sleep.

Heather sat up in her bed, and Catherine could see that she'd had a restless night.

_Not as restless as mine, but then again, whose was?_

Catherine looked at her best friend and said, "Guess what? You are getting married today."

Heather stared skeptically at Catherine. "Am I?"

Cat smiled. "You are."

Heather started tearing. "I AM?"

Cat started to beam. "You _ARE_!"

Heather jumped out of bed, wrapped herself around Cat, and started to cry simultaneously. "You are the _BEST_ friend anyone could ever have." She squeezed Cat tighter.

"Hey, don't mention it." Catherine hugged her friend back. She really wanted Heather to be happy, and if Evan was the man to make her happy, then that was that.

"Cat?" Heather whispered.

"What?"

"I'm getting _MARRIED_!" She let go of Cat and stood up, then twirled and ran to the closet, throwing open the door and staring at the white fantasy of a dress that hung there.

"Yeah, you are." On a whim, Catherine jumped up on the double bed and began to bounce up and down. Heather laughed, then jumped up on the bed, and the two of them bounced up and down, laughing and laughing, until Heather's mother came in and asked them what they were doing.

"Getting ready for a wedding," Heather answered, her face glowing.

"And blowing off some nervous energy," Cat added.

Vanessa, Heather's mother, tried to look stern, but her gentle face broke into a smile.

"I know the kind of mischief you two can get into. Now Heather, you've got to eat something, and then we'll start getting you ready. Catherine, you come with me, too."

"Pancakes?" Cat asked hopefully. She'd always loved meals with Heather's large, boisterous family, so different from her own.

"I think that can be arranged."

While Heather followed her mother down the stairs, the two of them arm in arm, Cat went back to the bathroom and hung up the damp towel she'd been drying her hair with. Her gaze fell on the outfit she'd been wearing the night before. With quick movements, she put everything in its place. As she secured the blond wig onto a wig stand in the closet, she took one last look at the crucial element in her disguise. Except for the Mardi Gras mask that she'd left in Vincent's den, of course.

"So long, Candy," she whispered. "You were a total blast."


	7. The Wedding

Riding in the limo on the way to the church, Catherine stared out of the window and thought of Vincent Keller.

He would be at the wedding. As Evan's best man, he'd be up at the front of the church. He was responsible for the wedding rings. But he couldn't possibly recognize her. The short blond hair was no longer on her head. Her chestnut hair had been styled in an elegant twist, with tiny, pale pink rosebuds twined in her hair. Her makeup was fresh and light, in keeping with what a maid of honor should look like; no Cleopatra kohl-lined eyes for her, no sir. And the bright, shiny red lipstick had been replaced by a deep pink gloss.

Her dress couldn't have been more different. No more black. The dress that she wore now was a gorgeous silver blue silk that set off her brown hair perfectly. The empire style suited Catherine's slender body; she felt like a heroine in a romance novel.

Heather looked like a princess, the full white skirt of her wedding dress billowing out around her legs. She had chosen a halter-style beaded bodice and a multi-layered tulle skirt. She wore her mother's veil and a sparkling tiara completed the fairy tale look.

Her mother also provided the something blue by the way of stunning sapphire earrings. The something new was tiara she adored. The something old, her brothers teased, was her father walking her down the aisle. But Heather also wore her great-grandmother's bracelet. The borrowed was her mother's veil.

So everything was covered.

The limo turned a corner, and Cat clasped her hands tightly together. Evan and his family had gone on ahead as everyone knew it was bad luck to see the bride before the wedding. Cat was is the limo with Heather, her mother and father, and Heather's five year old niece, Melissa, who was going to be the flower girl.

Catherine tried to keep her mind on the wedding, not on Vincent.

Even though she missed the rehearsal dinner, Cat knew what to do, so she was confident.

Heather, holding on to her father's arm, was absolutely radiant. Happiness seemed to shine off of her, and in that instant Cat was glad she'd gone to the bachelor party.

But another, disquieting thought had entered her head.

It had been an amazingly spectacular, sensual night for her. If a girl ever had fantasies about how to lose her virginity, then Vincent Keller would be at the top of her list. It had been perfect.

Perfect.

She and Vincent had just . . . . fit. Clicked. Chemistry, destiny, whatever you called it. There hadn't been any awkward moments, no hesitations. It had just . . . flowed. Beautifully. Incredible, considering it had been her first time. She wasn't naive enough to think that every woman's first time was even close to as good as hers had been.

Vincent had made it wonderful for her. But now, the morning after, doubts began to creep in. And Cat wondered if he had that kind of chemistry with every woman. Was what they'd shared last night something unique, or was it sensual business as usual for him?

She didn't have a clue.

Catherine bit the inside of her lip and wondered if he'd had any idea that she was a virgin. The den had been fairly dark, she'd been self-conscious about the noises she'd been making until Vincent had laughed softly and told her to make all the noise she wanted; the door was closed, and he loved the noises she made.

She'd never had many hang-ups about her body, but she certainly hadn't been planning on losing her virginity last night. She'd wanted to hold out for that special someone.

_Vincent was special,_ a tiny voice nagged.

She couldn't deny that.

_Or could she?_ That other, doubtful little voice returned with a vengeance.

The limousine turned into the church parking lot, and Cat was jarred out of her thoughts when Heather's mother spoke to her. Cat took a quick glance outside the tinted window, looking for Vincent.

Nothing. He was probably inside already.

"Cat? We're here."

"Oh. Yes." And then she gathered her skirt, wrapped in her dark blue, hooded, velvet cloak more tightly around her against the chill and the light snow that started up again, and stepped out of the limousine and into the church parking lot.

* * *

Vincent patted his pocket, triple checking to make sure that he still had the rings. After all, as best man, he had his responsibilities. But his mind wasn't really on the wedding. His mind was on this evening. He'd arranged for Candy to come by his house at eleven, confident that by that time he'd have been able to gracefully leave the reception.

She'd make him feel so alive. More so than he'd felt in years. She made him feel like he had alive but unfeeling for the last thousand years. He'd taken a lot of ribbing from J.T. over the last few years, but he had never really understood what his friend was driving at . . . until Candy had rocked his world. Now he had absolutely no desire to show up at the office, let alone work.

The only thing on his mind was Candy.

All he wanted to do was sit and talk with her. Try to make sense of what happened between them last night. Find out who she was and what she wanted out of life.

Oh, he _lies!_

He wanted to hit the sheets with her again with a ferocity he couldn't believe. He wanted to get her naked and flat on her back in mere seconds and have a repeat of the night before. But even more than that, he wanted to make sure that he would see her again, so he would do anything she wanted in order not to scare her off.

She utterly fascinated him. And all the cards were in her hands.

The crazy thing was, he didn't even mind. And for a control freak like him, that astounded him.

Vincent came back to the present with a blink, and a grin. Normally he was rather uncomfortable at weddings, but this one was. . . .special. He hadn't been in such a good mood in months.

"How you holding up?" he whispered to Evan.

"Fine." Evan tugged at the neck of his shirt. "I just wish this whole thing would get started. Let's get this show on the road."

_Do I know that feeling._ Vincent grinned, then straightened up imperceptibly as the organist began to play the prerequisite "Wedding March".

By tonight, he will be with Candy again. Or he would know why not.

* * *

"You look gorgeous," Catherine whispered to Heather, her eyes starting to fill.

"No crying," Heather whispered back. "You'll wreck you mascara."

Cat couldn't believe how cool and composed her friend was now that the moment was here. She supposed it was the absolute confidence Heather had in Evan after Cat had given her an accurate account of the bachelor party.

Well, not quite all of it.

"All right, Melissa," Cat whispered to Heather's five year old niece."It's time to strut your stuff!"

The little girl smiled up at her, absolutely adorable in a pinafore style dress. The little girl walked carefully down the aisle, her small hand reaching into the basket as she starts to carefully scatter the rose petals.

Heather's three bridesmaids, also dressed in silvery blue silk, got into line and each slowly began their measured walk down that long aisle as Cat made some last minute adjustments to Heather's tulle skirt.

"You look so incredible," she whispered to her friend.

"Off you go," said Heather's father, as he touched Cat's arm. "You look beautiful, Catherine."

"So do you," she whispered back to the older man, so filled with happiness and totally in the moment. The music swelled, she put one foot in front of the other, and started down the aisle with measured steps.

Heather's wedding had officially begun.

* * *

Vincent, keeping an eye on Evan, had to grin when he saw Melissa coming down the aisle so carefully, a solemn look on her face as she scattered the rose petals. The kid was absolutely adorable.

Then the first bridesmaid, then the second, and then the third, and he wondered what made bridesmaids' dresses so unattractive on most women. This particular style was totally unforgiving, as the silk clung to every curve.

And then . . . and then . . . and incredibly beautiful woman swathed in silk, walking in measured steps. She had so much vibrant energy that it seem to Vincent she was lit up like Christmas tree. Her hazel eyes sparkled with intense happiness and energy.

Strangely enough, even after the wild and totally satisfying night he'd shared with Candy, he felt himself attracted to her. And Vincent decided that he really had been working way too hard, if this was the way he felt when he allowed himself to relax and have a good time.

He couldn't take his eyes off her.

_God, she is a stunner!_

But more than that, something about her seemed vaguely familiar.

* * *

Catherine was two-thirds of the way to the altar when she glanced up at saw Vincent. Her heart sped up. He was standing next to Evan, looking resplendent in a tuxedo, absolutely gorgeous . . . and looking at her with a puzzled expression on his face, as if trying to place her.

_Uh-oh._

Could he possibly know who she was? That expression on his face unnerved her, and all of a sudden she felt totally exposed, as if Vincent somehow had x-ray vision and could see her brown hair and shear makeup to the woman with the blond wig and makeup. To the woman with the mask who had danced and danced and danced, and had smart-mouthed him at every turn.

For one awful moment, Cat thought she was going to ruin her best friend's wedding.

She caught Vincent's eye and smiled, trying desperately to look innocent, and was rewarded by a look of complete and utter puzzlement on his handsome face.

_Gotcha._

Still, it took every ounce of control she had to keep her face serene and composed, to look at him as if she'd never seen him before.

Then she kept her attention off him as she reached the altar and positioned herself to the side of where the bride would stand. Heather came down the aisle on her father's arm, glowing with love and basking in the attention of close friends and family, and thankfully, all eyes, including Vincent's were focused on the bride.

When Heather reached Evan's side, she turned to Catherine, handed her the bouquet, and moved closer to Evan, her face filled with absolute love and trust in him.

Cat's eyes filled; her heart felt as if it were going to choke her, the emotion filling her was so intense.

She could sense someone's eyes on her, and glancing over, she saw Vincent's still looking at her intensely, like Lois Lane snooping around after Clark Kent.

She'd fix him. Nothing was going to ruin this day.

Cat gave him a watery, teary, emotional smile, then glanced down. Shy, demure. That was the image to go for, the exact opposite of last night.

The ceremony began, as the minister said the age old words that would bind a man and a woman together.

And like a moth to a flame, Catherine kept sneaking glances at Vincent.

He was gorgeous.

Life was so unfair. If life were fair, Vincent wouldn't have been right in her freaking field of vision. Or at least, he would have had a zit.

But, no. Gorgeous. In her face. Right in front of her. Her knees turned to water at the thought of the two of them walking down the aisle together, in reverse, of course. How strangely appropriate. But the thought of touching him again. . . .

_You can do this, you can do this. . ._

She kept repeating this in her head, like a mantra, as she watched the wedding, trying to keep her eyes off Vincent. Impossible. He was deadly, he was yummy, she kept remembering all the things they'd done, those talented lips, those sure hands, that . . .

She couldn't believe she was having a full blown in Technicolor sexual fantasy in the middle of her best friend's wedding!

Then the organ music jarred her out of her thoughts, and Catherine realized Heather was kissing Evan, and everyone was looking at the newlyweds.

Everyone except Vincent Keller, of course, whose attention was fixated directly on her. Cat tried not to squirm, but his gaze felt like one of those laser sights in an action movie.

_What is wrong with that man? _ She looked nothing like Candy; brown hair versus blond, demure versus blatant sexuality. How could the man have mixed up the two of them? He had to have some sort of personal radar where she was concerned.

_Damn Vincent Keller!_

Though she liked that fact that he was no dummy, this whole deception was going to be trickier than she'd thought.

* * *

As Evan and Heather started down the aisle, Vincent realized that he was about to get up close and personal with the maid of honor as they walked down the aisle. What had Evan said her name was?

Catherine something or other, from San Francisco.

She looked familiar, but he just couldn't place her. He dug his nails into his palms in an attempt to regain some sort of mental clarity, and to banish any sleepiness. After his all-night marathon with Candy last night. . . .

_Candy? No. Impossible. And yet. . . something about her eyes. That damn twinkle._

Then he was standing next to her, offering her his arm, noticing the way the slightest of blushes rose up from her bodice into her neck.

This woman was a total innocent, not an exotic dancer.

_And yet. . ._

"Great wedding," he murmured, for her ears alone.

"Yes," she whispered, and Vincent had the oddest feeling. He suddenly flashed back to his den, the dimly lit room, as he reached for Candy beneath the blanket, pulling her on top of him so he could see her as she straddled him. He'd placed his hands firmly around her waist, then moved his thumbs so they could slide down and caress that most sensitive part of her.

"Yes!" she'd whispered. "YES!"

Vincent decided he was going insane, seeing Candy in everyone. Because this woman couldn't be further in looks and temperament from the mystery woman of the night before. Deep chestnut, while Candy had platinum hair; fragile and shy, while Candy had been brazen and sexually adventurous, utterly fearless.

Then they were caught up in a whirl of people in the church's vestibule, and she excused herself. He watched her move through the crowd, then decided he needed to see Candy again. BAD.

Because he was seeing her in every woman he met.


	8. The Limousine

_That was too close. Way too close._

Catherine deliberately stayed far away from Vincent, talking with one of Heather's aunts. Aunt Arlene was telling her all about how she'd used homeopathic medicine to cure her cat of a digestive disorder, and Cat was actually quite interested. Her grandfather was always interested in alternative medicine.

_Anything to keep my mind off of Vincent._

She hadn't been able to stay away from him during photographs. Evan and Heather had hired an extremely competent photographer, and a videographer. He has been taping the vows, but directly after the ceremony, the photographer had insisted that they pose for a number of formal portraits.

Heather had also hired a makeup artist, so that everyone would look great in the pictures. Cat had stood patiently while the young woman powdered her nose, then tried not to flinch when someone suggested, "We really should get a picture of the best man and the maid of honor. Wouldn't that be cute?"

Catherine had smiled and smiled through countless pictures until she swore her face was about to fall off, and then finally escaped and moved as far away from Vincent Keller as possible. Unobtrusively, of course.

But she couldn't stop looking at him. Then again, neither could any other single woman at the wedding. Hell, there were a fair few woman who where happily married staring dreamy-eyed at him. She knew that Heather told her a long time ago that Evan's best friend was smart, loaded, and gorgeous. Now Cat was wishing that she had paid attention.

She glanced over in his direction and noticed that two of the bridesmaids hovered around him. And Vincent seemed gracious and charming with both of them. Cat felt her self-confidence drop several notches. It was true; he had this effect on all females, not just with her. They'd fit together so well, had such vibrant chemistry together, because Vincent would have intense chemistry with a tree stump.

She'd been nothing special to him after all.

Feeling shaky, determined not to cry, she turned her attention back to Auntie Arlene.

* * *

Now he knew he had it bad, because none of these women could hold a candle to Candy. It wasn't that they were boring; there was nothing wrong with them.

_They just weren't Candy._

He glanced over at Catherine. It was the damnedest thing; she'd seemed so vibrant before, and now it seems like some inner light had gone out.

_And why are you concerned with Catherine when you have Candy coming over tonight?_

Well, he'd have to be a real cad not to notice Catherine what's-her-name's change of emotion. Women were complete mysteries to Vincent, and he liked it that way. But he tried to pay attention, to keep up with the program. He tried to notice the little details, and the details surrounding Catherine were that she seemed exhausted.

She'd flown in last night, after the rehearsal dinner. Heather mentioned something about a performance she had to do, and as she lived somewhere in California, Vincent wondered if she were some sort of actress. And, of course, flying during the holidays was the worst. On top of that, she'd lost time flying east, and changing time zones could be exhausting.

But it seemed more than that.

Maybe she was upset that her best friend was married and she was still single. That sounded like the way a woman might be feeling at a wedding. Maybe it had all hit her the final moments of the ceremony. Vincent studied her, the dark hair, the slender body. She didn't have to worry. She was sparkly enough and pretty enough that she wouldn't be single for long. Or if she was, it would be her choice.

* * *

Catherine decided to make a conscious choice.

Okay, so Vincent had chemistry with everyone. Fine. But she'd chosen to throw caution to the wind and have wild sex with him. She'd made that decision. So starting right now, she was not going to regret that decision or beat herself up for it. She was going to accept it, realize that she'd had a night of passion that most women spent their entire lives dreaming for, and move on.

Move on. Yeah, right. That was the hard part.

_You can get through the rest of this wedding. You are calm, collected. You know what you are capable of._

Vanessa came up behind her and put a supportive hand on her back.

"Catherine, we thought you and Vincent could ride over to the reception with Evan and Heather. Would that be all right?"

_In a limo. With Vincent. That close. Sure._

She nodded her head."Should we leave now?"

Vanessa smiled. "I think the photographer's gotten all the pictures she wants. But they still want to take candids at the reception. And there's the video, of course. Remind Heather to powder her nose, would you?"

Heather sat in Evan's lap the entire way over, both of them kissing each other, all over like two dogs that had just discovered rare prime rib. And Cat could sympathize, because Heather had decided to wait until her wedding night to have sex.

"Are you alright?" Vincent asked her.

His concern touched her.

"Just a little tired. I flew in yesterday and didn't get a lot of sleep last night."

"I know what you mean. Neither did I."

Her mind went into overdrive, her imagination going down a darkly sexual path.

She pulled it up short.

"How do you like New York?" he said, and she could tell he was trying to make polite conversation as neither of them wanted to look at the newlyweds.

"I grew up here," she said. "It's a lovely area."

_Lovely. God, I sound so boring._

She decided to tweak him a little, mad at him that he should have such a powerful chemistry with the entire female population. She wanted it to be just between the two of them.

"How was the big bachelor party?"

He stared at her for a long moment, and for one awful instant, she thought she'd given herself away.

"It was actually quite wonderful." He said softly, and the tone of his voice seemed filled with awe. Vincent hesitated, then said, "I'm still kind of getting over it. It was one of the. . . no, it was the most wonderful night of my life."

Her throat started to close.

"How so?" she managed to croak out.

He seemed suddenly surprised that he'd revealed so much to her, as if he hadn't meant to say what he said.

"You're a very easy woman to talk to."

"I've been told I'm a good listener."

"Hmmm." He stared out the window for a second, then glanced up at her.

"Maybe I could use a woman's opinion. Would you mind?"

_Do I really have a choice?_

"Not at all."

"I met this dancer. She intrigued me. We ended up. . ." He seemed to catch himself as he looked down at her. He stopped.

"You inserted Tab A into Slot B."

"How did you know?"

"Some stories are obvious."

Vincent considered this. "I've been working so hard. I tend to keep my nose to the grindstone, and this girl, she. . . she just set me free."

Cat swallowed against the nervous tightness in her throat. "And did you like feeling this way?"

"Yes."

"So, call her up."

"I did."

"What?"

He glanced down at her.

_Think fast Cat, think fast._

"Sorry, just surprised. She gave you her number then?"

"No, I called the company she works for. They're sending her over at eleven."

"I see."

"I just. . . I want her to know that it was more than just sex. I am not sure what it is, but it was more than just. . . that."

"But, and excuse me for saying this, but you seem to be the sort of man who could have a great time with any number of women. You know. . . that chemistry thing."

He shook his head. "Not like this."

She smiled and leaned toward him, touching his arm.

_Tell him, tell him who you are. And then you can. . . then you can wreck Heather's marriage, that's what you can do._

How would she ever be able to explain to Vincent what she'd been doing at the party arranged for Evan?

There was no way for either of the men to view it as anything other than an enormous betrayal.

Vincent grinned down at her. "So, any last words of advice for me?"

"Next time you host a bachelor party, consider something a little less dangerous, like bungee-jumping, or sky-diving. Or maybe fire-walking."

He laughed.


	9. The Toast

**A/n: Icky yucky reasons for having not posted at the end of the chapter.**

* * *

As the four of them walked into the reception hall, Catherine glanced at the enormous floor-to-ceiling Christmas fir tree in the foyer, decorated with twinkling lights and dazzling, hand-blown glass ornaments. Farther inside, in the spacious ballroom, she would see what Heather, Vanessa, and the wedding planner had been up to.

Right now, she was horribly conscious of Vincent, right next to her. Their arms were touching because he'd graciously offered his arm as they'd left the limo, and she'd taken it, knowing that not to do so would probably arouse suspicion. Feeling the hard muscles in his arm beneath his suit jacket had been a strange sort of torture, as she'd remembered what those muscular arms had been capable of. But even beyond those thoughts, all she could think about as she carefully maneuvered through the snow, was what he'd revealed in the limo.

So it had been special, as special as she'd thought it had been. The thought thrilled her, until she realized she could never reveal the fact that she was Candy. That it was her that danced on the family room table. It was her that had gone back to his den, dared him to kiss her, and ended up naked in his arms. She couldn't betray her best friend and start her wedding off on that kind of note.

But she kind of suspected Vincent would get the fact that something was up when he opens his door tonight and meets the real Candy. Cat wondered what Candy actually looked like. But Vincent would know, for sure, that the dancer who'd had food poisoning wasn't the Candy he'd spent the night with.

What then?

It wasn't that she thought she'd do anything crazy. Strangely enough, Catherine found herself veering back and forth between telling him and remaining silent. She wasn't even sure how mad he'd be at her, though she was sure he'd be at least slightly annoyed. There was even a chance he might really laugh at the entire incident.

Maybe.

It was just that it was so hard for her to walk away from him after the intimate night they'd shared. Yet there was another part of her, the chicken part of her that came to relationships, that wanted to do just that. And if she was honest with herself, she had to admit that she didn't even know this man. And yet. . . . she did.

She turned to Heather. "Your mom wanted me to remind you to powder your nose before the photographers arrive."

Heather was busily kissing Evan.

Catherine cleared her throat, suddenly uncomfortable. She realized that a part of her wanted to haul off and kiss the hell out of Vincent. He was simply temptation in a tux. Testosterone on the hoof. How ironic, that she had the man of her wildest sexual dreams right next to her, and she couldn't do anything about it.

"Ah, young love," Vincent whispered cynically.

Maybe she didn't know him as well as she thought.

"You don't believe in love?" she asked.

"Let's just say I have a healthy respect for its limitations."

_Limitations? Oh, great. Not only can I never blow my cover, I had to hook up with Mr. Cynic. Mr. Cynic with great moves, but a cynic nonetheless._

"What about you dancer?" Catherine regretted the words the minute they left her mouth. She couldn't believe she'd said them.

"Candy?"

"Yes," she said, and a part of her couldn't believe she was stubbornly continuing this train of thought. It was sheer suicide if he connected her to Candy the dancer.

Vincent laughed. "Oh, no. Don't go trying to pretty this up and make it all romantic. I know what it was, and even knowing was it was, it was pretty incredible."

So Mr. Cynic didn't believe in love. Interesting. And Cat found she wanted to tweak him again. She just couldn't resist. "And what exactly was it?"

"The single best physical experience of my entire life. Just incredible."

_Hot damn! Well, me too. But then again, what do I have to compare it to?_

She considered this, and for some strange reason, she felt proud of herself. But she still could believe that they had a special connection.

"But could . . . could the best sex of your life lead to something else?"

_You are playing with fire._

He gazed down at her, a speculative gleam in his piercing blue eyes.

"You want to think so, don't you?" She caught her breath as he took her chin in his hand, his touch so gentle. Studying her face, he said, "Catherine, find yourself a good man. Someone who shares all you dreams. You need that sort of person, because the real world is a very rough place."

She could feel her jaw set. "The real world is beautiful, full of wonder, and there's usually a surprise around every corner."

He smiled, dropped his hand. "You believe that?"

"I know that. Look at what happened with Candy. I believe that with all my heart." For some reason, she felt it was absolutely imperative that she get through to this man. Even more important than revealing who she really was and what they'd experienced together.

Vincent was silent for a long moment, looking down at her. "Good for you," he said softly, with no trace of cynicism or mockery. And to Cat, he suddenly looked unbearably tired.

He needs me. The thought hit her hard, a gut feeling, a rush of intuition. She reached for his arm, ready to confess, when Vincent turned to her and said, "I see guests are staring to file in, we'd better help Evan and Heather get that receiving line together."

The moment, the instant she would have confessed, was gone. Mutely, she nodded her head.

She'd tell him later.

Later, she lost her nerve.

* * *

_There's something about her. . . . ._

Vincent just couldn't place what it was.

The weirdest thing was, when he was with Catherine, he didn't even think about Candy. Which was strange, because he was seeing the dancer tonight.

But there was something about Catherine that challenged him.

He was pretty sure she had no idea who he was or what he did. That, in and of itself, was refreshing.

But something was bothering her, and it was more than watching her best friend get married. Besides, she didn't seem like the type who rained on another's parade.

Knowing that he could toast the bride and groom at any point during dinner, Vincent stood, then picked up his champagne flute. His table quieted instantly, and the silence spread to all the other tables until all five hundred guests were silent and looking at him.

"I've known Evan since we were at military school together," Vincent began. "He's been a good friend to me for many years, and I think that I speak for all of us in saying that we're so happy for your happiness, Evan."

Evan smiled, then reached over and kissed his bride on the cheek. Heather just glowed.

"I wish you both the best that life has to offer," Vincent continued; then he grinned. "And a very happy honeymoon in the Bahamas."

"Yeah!" yelled a male voice from the back tables.

"You tell him, Vincent!"

"Great party, bud!"

People were laughing, in a partying mood. As Vincent sat back down, he caught Catherine's eye and winked.

* * *

_Jesus Christ, he knows. . . . ._

_Stop being paranoid. He's merely letting you know that you might want to give a little toast or something._

She stood up, her legs shaky. She'd had no idea how sitting next to Vincent would affect her, but his mere presence seemed to . . . rile her up.

All eyes were turned to her as she raised her champagne flute.

"I love you, Heather," she said simply, looking at her best friend. Tears welled up in Heather's eyes, and Catherine had to fight her emotions to keep her own tears from spilling over. She glanced away from her friend and out over the sea of people.

"We used to dream about our weddings all the time, and pin lace tablecloths over our heads and parade around. But I don't think either of us could have dreamed up anything as exquisite as today has been."

Murmurs of approval swept the large ballroom.

"You have a great man in Evan, Heather," she said. "I know that."

For an instant, the two women's eyes met, and the look that passed between them acknowledged what had transpired last night. "You're going to have a great marriage, and I'm sure everyone else in this room is, as well. To the bride and groom!"

"To the bride and groom!" echoed throughout the ballroom, and Catherine took a sip of her champagne, then sat down next to Vincent.

"Very nice," he said.

"Yours too."

Moments lapsed, and silence grew between them.

"How about a little game?" she said, remembering her conversation with J.T. the other night.

"What?"

"Truth or Dare," she whispered.

That got his attention. Those dark eyes honed in on her like a tracking beam, and for a moment, just a moment, she thought she'd blown her cover. Then sanity returned. She looked nothing like Candy of last night. He'd never suspect.

"Truth," she said quietly.

He nodded his head.

"How do you really feel about Evan getting married?"

He hesitated.

"Truth," she said. "The truth."

"Strange," he finally admitted. "As if he's found something that. . . . . . .I don't think I'll find in this lifetime."

She knew enough not to push him further.

"Now you," he said, never taking his eyes off her.

"Fine."

"Dare."

"You got it," she said.

"Dance with me when the music starts."

"I have to; you're the best man, and I'm the maid of honor. . ."

"No, I mean a real dance. The first slow one. The entire dance."

That would be sheer sensual torture, but he'd told her the truth, so she had to match him with a dare.

"Fine."

* * *

Dinner had been quietly taken away, and now the band was assembling itself on the area just off the large dance floor.

"Just remember the dare. " Vincent whispered to Caterine.

He had to be going completely insane. She reminded him of Candy.

Impossible. Because there was one quality that Catherine almost radiated, and that was innocence. And Candy had been far from innocent.

The two women were as different as night and day. And yet. . . . . . .

* * *

Catherine's throat tightened as she watched Evan lead Heather onto the empty dance floor to the beginning strains of "Someone to Watch Over Me." They began their dance, all eyes on them.

She could sense Vincent standing next to her.

"Please don't say anything to ruin the moment," she whispered.

"Me? Never."

She knew he was genuinely happy for his friend.

As Heather left Evan's arms for her father's, and Evan danced with his mother, Catherine walked towards the dance floor, her arm through Vincent's.

"Remember," he whispered as they stepped onto the dance floor. "You've promised me an entire other dance."

"I know."

And then she felt his arms close around her, and they felt so right. She leaned against him and discovered that he was just as good at dancing as he was at other one-on-one activities. They moved to the music as if they'd been dancing together for years.

And she knew that this, this physical contact, this dancing, was what might give them away.

Before she could worry further, she felt a masculine tap on her shoulder. Turning, she recognized one of the men from the party the night before. He gave Vincent a look that seemed to say,_ May I?_ and while Catherine noticed with a thrill that Vincent didn't seem happy relinquishing her, he let her go without a struggle.

She turned to her new partner and couldn't help noticing how his hands just didn't feel right touching her.

* * *

Vincent stood on the sidelines, watching Catherine dance with his friend Clancy.

_Something was not right._

Something had happened when he'd put his arms around her. He'd never touched this woman in his entire life before today, yet when he'd put his arms around her and started to dance with her, he'd felt as if he were coming home.

Something was up. He sensed he didn't have all the facts. It was something he wasn't quite aware of, but that sixth sense that had served him so well in business was alerting him.

He stood to the side of the dance floor, watching her.

* * *

Once the dance with Clancy had ended, Catherine remembered another promise she'd made to Heather, one she would have no trouble keeping.

Catherine had promised to dance with Heather's oldest nephew, Hunter. Catherine had no trouble locating him, standing with a group of his peers.

"Hi," she said, coming up to the young man. "Hunter?"

He peered at her suspiciously, and she suddenly knew that this young man had been the butt of a joke more often than he would have liked.

"Yeah," he said cautiously, and she caught the glint of braces.

"I'm Cat, Aunt Heather's friend. Would you like to dance?" She held out her hand and he took it, cautiously.

"Yeah!" He looked like he couldn't believe she'd asked him.

"Fast or slow?"

He grinned down at her, and she saw the faint blush stain his cheekbones.

"Let's go for a fast one!"

* * *

Very nice, thought Vincent as he watched Catherine approach Hunter. He knew the kid was painfully shy, and he grudgingly had to admire Catherine for bringing him out.

The band broke into a rendition of "White Wedding" and he watched as Hunter led Catherine out onto the dance floor. They began to dance, and Vincent had to admit that Hunter wasn't bad.

But Catherine was stunning.

She certainly knew her way around the dance floor. He watched her body move, sway to the music, her laughter and enjoyment contagious. A tendril of luminous brown hair had escaped her upswept hairstyle, and the slight messiness of it suited her. She laughed, her head going back, and one of the small rosebuds woven into her hair fell to that dance floor.

Vincent narrowed his eyes.

Something seemed very familiar. He felt as if something was starting to click into place, just on the edge of his consciousness.

The floor around the two dancers started to clear as their moves became more elaborate and intricate and people stopped dancing to watch. Who would have thought that Hunter loved to dance or was so good at it? As Vincent got a much better view of the two of them, all the emotions inside him stilled.

_Catherine. . .Candy. . .Catherine. . .Candy. . ._

He didn't know how. He didn't know why. He only knew that the woman he spent the night with and had the most incredible sex of his life was the same woman who was out on that dance floor, having a wild time with Heather's nephew.

Vincent suddenly knew that the woman Zeke would be sending over would not be the same woman he'd been with last night.

He'd just found Candy.

* * *

A/N: Sorry for not posting in a while. My 12 year old niece committed suicide a while back, and it's been REALLY difficult to follow through with things since. But as my rapist (The Rapist, therapist...get it?) says, it's important to life to actually LIVE. So, this is me...living.


	10. The Dance

Vincent let her dance three more songs with Hunter, then the flushed and triumphant teenager went back to his group with Catherine on his arm. And he knew that Hunter's social stock just went up.

_Good for Catherine. And Candy._

As he'd watched them dance together, he'd thought furiously. What had Catherine been doing there last night? If what Heather told Evan was true, then she'd only flown in that evening after the rehearsal. What had she been up to while crashing the party?

And why had she taken the risk of spending the night with him?

_And why can't I take my eyes off of her?_

It made no sense. Catherine seemed so innocent, so inexperienced, for lack of a better term. The Candy he had known had been sultry and sophisticated, and once they'd gotten naked. . .

Well, it was time he found out exactly what she was up to.

The sounds of a slow dance filled the air, and he went in search of Catherine, Candy, the dancer. Whatever she wanted to call herself, he had something to settle with her.

Catherine was still talking to Hunter and his group of friends when she felt a hand lightly touch her back. She didn't even need to turn around to know that it was Vincent.

"Thanks for the dance!" Hunter said, and she impulsively gave him a hug.

"You had some pretty great moves out there yourself. Save another one for me before tonight is over?"

Hunter grinned and nodded.

Then she turned to Vincent. And instantly, she felt uncomfortable with the way he was studying her.

"You promised me a dance," he said, and thought his tone was pleasant enough, there was something behind it.

_You're being paranoid!_

"So I did," she said brightly. "Let's get down to it!"

* * *

_Let's get down to it!_

Vincent remembered the last time she'd said those words, as she'd lounged back on the fur rug in his den. And he also remembered that incredible, incendiary chemistry between them. It was all he could do to not haul her off in his arms and kiss her senseless, right here on the dance floor.

And he was a man who had always prided himself on his control.

_What a total laugh_. His so-called control was going up in flames. How J.T. would laugh if he had any idea of what was going on right now.

How could you desire a woman and be pissed off at her at the same time? What kind of game was she playing with him? Why did a part of him really want to laugh, and another part of him want to be annoyed?

And how was he going to get her to admit that she was his Candy, his dancer?

_His?_

This was going to be a total challenge . . . and he found that he liked the idea. A lot.

* * *

He led her out onto the packed dance floor. With the slower music and more intimate dancing style, many of the older guests were now out on the dance floor with their partners. Catherine eased herself into Vincent's arms and once again had the strange feeling of coming home.

They danced in silence for a minute or so before she felt his hand smoothing it way down her waist, then resting on her right buttock. The dance floor was so crowded she doubted anyone noticed. But she did.

And it felt wonderful.

Stepping away slightly, feigning surprise, she glanced up at his face.

"What do you think you are doing?"

He grinned down at her. "Just taking a stroll through your garden."

"What?"

He moved so that his lips brushed her ear. "Your rose garden. The tattoo. Remember? I do."

Before she could help herself, she flashed back to the den, the flickering light from the fireplace, and the butterflies in her stomach as Vincent's lips brushed against the tiny tattoo on her buttock.

_He knows_.

She had no idea how he'd found out, but he knew who she was.

"I remember thinking you have the most perfect ass," he whispered, for her ears alone. "Such a turn-on."

Her body stiffened, but before she could pull away, he eased her closer.

"Hello, Candy," he whispered in her ear. "Now, before you try to escape, I want to ask you, why you were at the bachelor party last night pretending to be a stripper?"

"I wasn't."

"You were."

"Wasn't."

"Were."

"Suppose I was? Can't you see how ludicrous it sounds? What would I be doing there?" Gaining both confidence and momentum, Catherine decided to elaborate. "I'd just flown in from San Francisco, I was absolutely exhausted, and I hate flying over the holidays, so the first thing I'm going to do is sneak over to your house, dress up as a stripper, got to Evan's bachelor party and rock out? I think not!"

"You would if Heather asked you to. You're ruthless when it comes to the people you love. That's just the kind of friend you are. The same way you danced with Hunter."

One dance segued into the next, and they didn't even notice, they were so busy arguing.

"Vincent, just for arguments sake, why would Heather want me to do something like that?"

He tightened his grip on her waist. "Because she caught her last fiancé in bed with an old girlfriend, and, oh, I don't know, maybe she wanted to be absolutely sure she could trust Evan before she married him."

She swallowed. "Evan told you that?" She hated the fact that her voice seemed to come out in a squeak. Squeaking did not project confidence.

"He told me he was having a hard time getting Heather to trust him because of what that other jerk had done to her."

"Oh." She considered this. Vincent was awfully good at putting all the pieces together. Her excuses were running out.

He pulled her closer to him. "Catherine, I have a way we can solve this once and for all," he whispered in her ear. "We go to one of the bathrooms, into one of the stalls. You lift up your dress; show me your right buttock. No rose, I lose. If there's a rose on that cute little butt, I win. Deal?"

She stared at him. She had never met a man like Vincent Keller, and she suddenly realized he would not let the matter rest.

_Well, the best offense is a good defense._

"I'm going to get into a bathroom stall with you, a total stranger. . ."

"Not so total after last night. . ."

"And lift my dress up? You've GOT to be kidding."

"Ha, I knew it! You're Candy!"

"And YOU'RE way out of line!" And with that, she wrenched herself out of his arms and marched off the dance floor.

Vincent watched her go, then slowly grinned. He did so love a challenge.

"What a woman!"

* * *

"Look," Catherine whispered to Heather after the cake cutting, searching for an excuse to leave and avoid Vincent, "I'm going to have to race out of here pretty soon, so have a wonderful honeymoon . . ."

"I saw you and Vincent arguing. Is everything OK?"

_Peachy._

"Sure. We were just having a spirited debate. He's got quite a few interesting theories."

"He's a neat guy. You know, he was the one who finally convinced me I should take a chance on Evan and trust him."

_Mr. Cynic?_

"He did?"

"Yeah. He told me that he'd never seen Evan as crazy about a woman as he was with me, and that I should marry him and put him out of his misery."

"Wow."

"You know," Heather whispered, "it was kind of a fantasy of mine that you and Vincent would get together and . . ."

_If you only knew how together we got_.

"Nope. Not my type."

"Oh." Heather was clearly disappointed.

"Anyway, I've got to run, but I'll call you once you and Evan get back from the Bahamas and we'll talk then."

"Okay."

Cat hugged and kissed her friend. "One last favor?"

"Anything," Heather said.

"Just don't throw the bouquet anywhere near me, all right?"

Of course, Heather threw the wedding bouquet toward her at the speed of sound, and Cat automatically reached up and caught it.

Reflex action. Nothing to get upset about. Until she glanced up and saw Vincent smiling at her, then shaking his head. She promptly stuck out her tongue at him.

But she had the last laugh when he caught the bride's pink garter.

Heather changed into her traveling outfit, and the happy couple headed toward the limousine that would take them to the airport and their flight to the luxurious villa in the Bahamas. Everyone attending the wedding that had followed them outside lit sparklers and created a sparkling, fairy tale send off. The Bahamas had been her father's idea. Just as with the wedding, Heather's parents spared no expense on their honeymoon.

As Cat watched the sleek black limo turn out of the parking lot and into traffic, she breathed a sigh of relief. Nothing had spoiled Heather's perfect day.

And now it was time to get the hell out of Dodge.

As she walked back into the ballroom to find her velvet cloak, she promptly bumped into Vincent Keller.

"Vincent," she said, backing away from him.

"Time to run, huh?" He eyed the delicate blue paper bag Catherine had in her hand with the strangest look in his eyes. Almost predatory.

_And pretty damn exciting._

"W-whatever do you mean?"

"You're going to run, the same way you ran this morning."

"I have no idea what you are talking about." As they walked along the hallway, she thought quickly. She'd have to call a cab, then double back to Heather's house to get her bag.

"I can give you a ride back to Heather's house. Clancy brought my car over for me."

"I don't think so."

"Scared of me, Catherine?"

"I'm scared of all your crackpot theories."

"I'm not . . ." Once again he cupped her chin in his hand. "Look, I'm not really good at all this sort of stuff. . ."

"What stuff?" she asked breathlessly.

"Romantic stuff. What women want to hear. But I've never promised a woman more than I can give her. All I know is that when I took one look at your beautiful hazel eyes and . . . something happened. I don't know what, but I know it was something."

"When?" she asked, confused.

"When I walked into the family room, and you were dancing. You looked up, and before you threw you bra at me, I looked straight into your eyes . . ."

She stepped back from him, breaking contact with his hand, her heart in her throat. "Oh, you LIAR! How could you know what color my eyes were! I was wearing a mask and . . ."

Catherine stopped, horrified.

_Jig's up._  
_Checkmate._  
_If I were on that Survivor show, this would be the moment I'd be voted off . . . my torch snuffed out . . . the tribe has voted , Catherine . . ._

"A purple mask," he said softly. "A Mardi Gras mask. It brought out the twinkle in those gorgeous hazel eyes."

"Don't." She put up her hand as if to physically ward him off.

"You were the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen," he whispered. Taking her hand, he pulled her up against him.

"Come home with me," he said, his lips close to her ear. "Come home with me tonight, please . . ."

For one awful, wonderful moment, she considered it. Then her eyes closed, and she remembered their conversation earlier, before the guests arrived.

_Don't go trying to pretty this up and make it all romantic. I know what it was, and even knowing what it was, it was pretty incredible. The best sex I ever had in my entire life._

What was Vincent going to do, hire her to come out to his house and dance for him? And then he'd hire her for . . .

The thought of what that made her brought her up short.

She swallowed. Hard.

"Could you go get our coats? Mine's the blue velvet cape."

"I remember it." He lowered his head, and she just before he kissed her exactly what he was going to do. She gave herself over to the kiss, memories flooding her body as his lips covered and then expertly parted hers. As his tongue slid into her mouth, she shyly answered in kind, the erotic actions made her body go all soft and liquid, filled with feminine need.

The sheer intensity of his kiss and fierce masculinity behind it caused her toes to curl. His arm came around her, steadying her, offering her support. She was so close to his body that she had absolutely no doubts as to how much he wanted her. They were alone in the hallway, and she knew if he continued on, she wouldn't be able to resist him.

Vincent broke the kiss, then rested his forehead against hers for just an instant. "I'll be right back," he said, his voice not quite steady. "Wait here."

She waited, taking deep, steadying breaths, until he rounded the corner of the hallway before she took off like a bat out of hell. The evening air was absolutely freezing as she raced out the front door, though the snow had stopped. The frigid air jolted her silk-clad body out of its state of sexual arousal, as effective as a cold shower or a bathtub filled with ice cubes. Cat took a deep breath, and looked around. She saw Hunter behind the wheel of a battered orange Volkswagen, and she ran toward it.

"Hunter!" she yelled, and his head came around, his face breaking into a grin.

"Hey, Cat!"

She opened the passenger side door and flung herself inside. The heater, at full blast, felt like heaven to her cold skin.

"Can you get me back to Heather's in record time?"

"Sure thing!" He laughed as he put the car in gear. "What kind of trouble are you in now?"

She glanced back, just in time to see Vincent standing at the main doorway, both of their coats in his hand.

"You REALLY don't want to know."

* * *

He saw a flash of silvery blue silk against the evening sky, then saw Catherine hurl herself into the orange Volkswagen, her long skirts frothing around her legs. Then whoever was driving the bug shot out into traffic, while he saw Clancy and his car, backed up about fifteen cars from the exit.

_Damn it!_ She'd bolted, just like this morning.

Well, there was nothing he could do about it right now. Shrugging into his winter coat and carrying her deep blue velvet cloak, Vincent headed toward his car.

* * *

Hunter got her to Heather's in record time, as promised. Catherine raced up the stairs to Heather's room, blessing the fact that she was pre-packed and ready to go. Feeling like the hounds of hell were on her heels and didn't want to risk taking the time to change, she reached in her bag for a jacket and sneakers, then zipped up the duffel bag. She ran back outside to where Hunter sat waiting, motor still running.

"You sure I shouldn't just call a cab?" she asked Heather's nephew.

"Nah," he said with new found confidence. "I can get you there in plenty of time for your flight."

He was as good as his word. Running inside with her carry-on, Catherine stood in the short line at the ticket counter, basically begging the young man behind the counter to give her the first flight to San Francisco that had an empty seat.

She didn't rest until she was on the plane. Cat was one of the last people to run aboard. She'd run to the gate just in time to board the plane, holding the long skirts of her dress in one hand, her duffel slung over her shoulder, clutching her small purse in the other hand.

"Must've been one hell of a wedding!" a guy called out as she passed him. His friends laughed.

Catherine didn't even look back.

When she finally fell down in her coach-class seat, it took her a moment to realize that all eyes on her, including the flight attendant's.

In her bridesmaid's dress, rosebuds twined in her hair, with her casual jacket and sneakers, she had to look like a fashion disaster. Definitely a don't, according to that famous Glamour magazine article.

"Don't ask," she said to one man in his thirties who was staring, and another passenger, a woman in her late fifties, simply started to laugh.


End file.
